


force to be reckoned with

by gelukstraan



Category: The Vampire Diaries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 15:59:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10880157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelukstraan/pseuds/gelukstraan
Summary: "Her eyes are like storms, her kisses taste like disaster."Short drabble, post season 8.





	force to be reckoned with

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language.  
> But I thought this drabble sounded better in English. There might be mistakes, they're all mine.
> 
> Also: I stopped watching TVD after e2s4, so I only know Bonkai out of fanfics and YouTube shorts.

** Force to be reckoned with  **

 

She was a force to be reckoned with, a natural disaster, destroying everything that lays in her way. I admired her, longed for her, lusted for her, maybe even loved her.

I love the way how dark her green eyes can get, love the way her smirk brings no joy at all. Her dark side is my favorite side. Sometimes I wish she was just like me, I wish I could see blood dripping out of her mouth. I want to watch her lick her lips. Maybe even suck some blood from my arms, neck, her teeth in my veins. Sharing everything we both long for so desperately.

But she isn’t anything like me. To be honest, I don’t feel as black as I used to feel. Maybe I am on the grey side now. Not caring about good or evil at all. Only a deep affection for the witch who killed me.

She locked me up twice, I got out once. Stuck to a chair with a terrible song in an endless loop. She was a mastermind, guessing right, getting to my biggest fear.

 She was getting to me, her name in my head is worse than the melody on repeat. It is more beautiful, more annoying. It’s not the first time, and for sure not the last time I think about death. I killed myself more than once in my first prison world. Aching for the death that nobody wanted to give me.

I have never been scared of death, but I have been scared of love. Crazy and mad for revenge, sometimes I wish I’d never escaped my first hell.

Would I do it again the way I did if I could do it all over? Probably not. I should’ve left the States, should’ve travel to elsewhere. Maybe that little nice spot in Italy I went three times in the eighteen

years I had the world to myself. Bonnie would’ve liked Italy.

I don’t regret the way things went. I regret being stuck here. I close my eyes, and dream of Italy and green eyes.

She visits me. I remember the first time very clearly. She was angry, slamming my face. I noticed the tan on her face, on her arms. She gave me blood. Stating she wanted me conscious in my misery. I did nothing but laugh, even when she left, I couldn’t stop laughing.

She came back a week later. She smelled like flowers I remember form my youth. “Did you miss me that much Bon-Bon?” She does not answer, but the dark in her eyes tells me enough.

I longed for light, easy going white. She longed for black, dark mysterious black. She kisses me, tasting like red wine and flowers. She is not going to let me out, ofcourse she wouldn’t, but she tells me she is in France. I tell her about Italy, about the place I ached for. She smiles, her eyes are sad.

The kisses are heated, the blood is sweet. Every time she visits me she is somewhere else. We talk, or I listen mostly. I let her rant, let myself drain in the hate for the world she left behind. Hungry for the changes she made, thirsty for her realization. She tells me she doesn’t need anyone but herself. But when she lets her fingers wander over my hand I know she is lying.

She came a long way, but she will always be a force to be reckoned with.

I don’t plan escape routes, I don’t even think about revenge. She stopped the song, unchained me. I didn’t want to escape. Didn’t want to leave, I wanted her to find me whenever she wanted to. Do I have Stockholm Syndrome?

No, I am in love. And that truth is way scarier than any Syndrome I possibly could have.

And she loves me. She longs for me. I am her dilemma, she’s caught between doing good and giving into her own needs. I encourage the latter, but I keep quit.

The less I talk, the more she talks. I like hearing her talk, I like hearing her complain. She has a big surprise coming up for me, she promises. I would like it very much, but her smile is making me afraid.

She is going to let me go. Set me free in the real world. I don’t want freedom, I don’t mind being her prisoner.

I lust for storms, tornados. I lust for immorality, I lust for being human.

I lust for death. Sweet beautiful death. The unknown, where I can truly be free.

I refuse going with her, when the time breaks. She doesn’t accept no for an answer. She knocks me out, she says she likes me unconscious better.

I smell flowers, hear birds chirping. I recognize the place immediately, the place I dreamt of so many times before.

  


“You’ve been a good boy, Kai. It’s time for our little game to stop.”

She brought me to Italy, let me out. Standing meters away from my body, eyes wary, ready to run away if needed. “You are free. I just wanted to be in your dream for once more. After this you need to let me go, I am going to let you go.”

But I can’t let go, refuse to let go. Numb to everything, I don’t want to let go. I want this to be forever, want to be hers forever. I want her to be mine, I want her to realize I am hers.

 

“I can’t.”

Her eyes are like storms, her kisses taste like disaster.

I want to be forever yours. I am your forever. Drowning in the storm she brings. My lust for love keeps me alive. Keeps her alive.

 

Forever yours, forever mine.

 


End file.
